


Getting It

by etben



Series: Getting It [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etben/pseuds/etben
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See, it goes like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting It

**Author's Note:**

> written for stop_drop_porn

So Ray's on the bed. He started out hands-and-knees, but then his elbows started wobbling and he went to knees-and-elbows, his head hanging down and just brushing the mattress, hands folded above his head. There's a breeze blowing in through the window and late-afternoon sun coming in between the mostly closed blinds. He's tired, but in a pretty good mood; they closed the Harrison case, nailed the guy for gambling and the girlfriend for stealing it, and got home early. And he's naked.

Next to him, Vecchio's sitting on the bed, but he's still dressed. Hell, he's still got his shoes on, even, although he's got one foot on the floor and the other crossed over his knee, keeping them off the bed. He's got one hand low on Ray's back, rubbing slow and sure along his spine, and he's got the first two fingers of his right hand up Ray's ass.

See, it goes like this. First, there was Vecchio and Fraser, except not like _that_, because Vecchio was busy being repressed and stupid and Fraser was busy being too damn Canadian for his own good, and plus there were women and all sorts of stuff that neither of them really talk about, so they never.

And after that, Vecchio went undercover, and so there was Ray and Fraser, except for how Ray was pretending to be Vecchio, and also pretending to be straight (which, wow: what a dumb idea), and Fraser was being confused and conflicted and other things like that, and so _they_ never.

And then, once they were all three of them back in Chicago, adventures and exes be damned, there was a whole lot of other stuff. Most of it's not that important—or, well, it _is_ important, but it's a different kind of important, maybe. The basic point is that there was Ray and Fraser and Vecchio, all together, and they didn't, and they didn't, and they didn't, until one night there was Ray and Fraser and Vecchio and a bottle of vodka, and then all of a sudden they _did_. And then they just sort of kept on doing it, because it felt good and they liked it, and now it's three months later and they're still doing it, as manifested by Vecchio's fingers, which are still rubbing along inside of him, in and out, making Ray's back shake and his eyes go a little blurry.

Which Ray is in no way complaining about, and if Vecchio is planning on complaining about it, Ray is more than willing to kick him in the head. Which would kind of suck, because then Fraser'd be pissed at him, but what the hell—if Vecchio's dumb enough to complain, he's going to have to take his lumps. And Ray probably wouldn't actually kick him in the head, anyway.

But, see, that's the thing. Fraser's always thinking that Ray _means_ it, when he says shit like that—_shut the fuck up, Vecchio_ and _Jesus, cut it out, you asshole_, or _Vecchio, I swear to God that if you don't give me the Merchant file, I will kick you in the head_. Which, fine, some of the time Ray does mean it, because Vecchio's an asshole, sometimes.

Most of the time, though, he doesn't really mean it—it's just a posture or whatever, just him letting off steam. Vecchio knows that, and he snaps right back—_Aw, fuck off, Kowalski_ and _whatcha gonna do about it, huh?_ and _Christ, Kowalski, do you have to wear that today? Do I have to be _seen_ with you in that?_. Sometimes it's mean, sure, but if Stella taught Ray anything, it's that the words are nothing, the words are purely fucking incidental. Everything that counts is in the tone, in how you say it and what you do.

Fraser, though—Fraser never had siblings, growing up, or even many friends his own age, so he doesn't always get that part of it, the part where you bitch and swear at someone and it's all _I love you, you bastard_ underneath the piss and vinegar. He's fine when it's directed at him, now: Ray calls him a freak, and he just smiles and says _thank you kindly, Ray_, and kisses him up against the wall or the couch or the car until they're both sweaty and grinning. When it's Ray and Vecchio, though, he gets kind of tense—well, really, he's tense all the time, when it comes to them. It's kind of like he thinks they don't _really_ like each other, that they're just putting up with it because they both like _him_ so much.

Which is crap, of course, but it's hard to convince Fraser otherwise, especially when he won't admit that he's thinking it in the first place. Fraser's just like that, really; he doesn't expect the good stuff, not for himself. And right now? He's always expecting one of them to leave because of the other. Ray can tell, can see it in behind his eyes and in the set of his jaw every time he and Vecchio fight.

But, see. There's something Fraser doesn't know, and that something is this: In between Vecchio-and-Fraser and Ray-and-Fraser, there was also Ray-and-Vecchio. Fraser was up in the great white nowhere, chasing litterbugs, and Ray and Vecchio were prepping for the whole undercover thing, sitting around Ray's apartment for a week and a half and talking about Vecchio's life. And, sure, they _didn't_, ever, but they talked a hell of a lot—talked about Vecchio, and about Fraser, and about Vecchio-and-Fraser, and about every other damn thing they could think of, and by the time Vecchio went in to the 2-7 to clear out his desk, Ray knew Vecchio pretty much as well as he knew anybody on the planet, and liked him better than most of them.

Which is why Vecchio's sitting on the bed, fucking Ray slow and steady with just two fingers, and why Ray's rocking his hips back, just a little, just enough that Vecchio's other hand goes tight on his hip and holds him still again. They talked, him and Vecchio, and they decided that this, the two of them, here together without Fraser trying to be some sort of freakshow UN, was what they needed to do, to make Fraser understand how it really is.

Not that there aren't some other benefits, of course. Ray's doing this for Fraser, sure, to make Fraser understand that they're all in this together, that they're not going to leave him because they get fed up with each other—but that doesn't mean that Ray can't enjoy the slow slide of Vecchio's fingers inside of him, out and _in_, pause and twist and stretch and slowly, slowly back out. Which is good, because Ray's enjoying the hell out of that. Hell, he could enjoy that all the damn time, if it weren't for how he has to go to work, occasionally. And probably Vecchio's fingers would cramp, after a while, so they might need to trade off, but, hell, Ray'd enjoy that, too.

Vecchio wouldn't want hands-and-knees, though—he'd want to lean back, get some pillows behind him, and stare down at Ray, watch himself around Ray's fingers, and that's fine, too. That'd put Vecchio's cock right in Ray's face, and you can say many things about Ray Kowalski, but you cannot ever say that he doesn't know what to do with a cock in his face. Vecchio goes wild when he's being sucked, too: his hips twitch and his nails dig into his legs and his toes actually curl—Ray's seen it happen, honest to God. He talks, too—Fraser mostly gets silent, during sex, and Ray himself tends to moan, but Vecchio actually uses words. Not many of them, admittedly: _yes_, mostly, or _God, Christ, Jesus, fuck!_, or sometimes Ray's name, real long on the 'a', so that it stretches out like taffy in this long, breathless shiver: _Kowa-a-a-a-al-ski! Oh, God, fuck, please, just, oh, oh—_

"—Ray! Ray!" Fraser's standing right inside the door, staring wide-eyed at the both of him, and Ray can't blame him for it.

It's always been funny how Fraser can say the exact same name in two completely different ways. That first 'Ray', see, that's really "Ray, my friend, why are you naked, and also are you aware that you've got a man's fingers up your ass?" Which, yes, Ray is most definitely aware of that. The second one, though—that's secret-Fraser-code for "Ray, why haven't you let that poor fellow come yet, when he clearly needs to most desperately." Ray knows the answer to that one, too.

"We were waiting for you, Frase," he says, and then has to pause and gasp against the push of Vecchio's fingers, spreading his knees that much further.

Lucky for him, Vecchio knows the plan, too, and has the added advantage of not being driven out of his mind at this point.

"See, Benny," he says, just like he's talking about a case or anything normal, "we wanted to show you that we can play nice together, see?" He twists his fingers inside Ray, just for emphasis, and Ray shudders all over, panting into the pillow and hitching back against Vecchio's hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Fraser: he frowns, but he starts to undo his jacket anyway. It's the blue uniform today, thank God, which means Fraser'll be naked twice as fast as usual—a good thing, especially if Fraser's going to take some time to get the point.

"I don't believe I do, Ray," he says, setting his hat on the dresser. "Would you care to clarify?" And it's a good thing Vecchio's here, because Ray couldn't clarify his way out of a paper bag, right now, not with Vecchio's fingers stretching him open and sending fireworks through his veins, making his ears ring.

"Sure thing, Benny," Vecchio says, and there's that twist again, and Christ, Vecchio better not take too long with this. "Me and Kowalski, here, we know you, and we know that you're a freak. And, being that you're a freak, we know that you tend to get some dumb ideas, particularly where your health and happiness are concerned."

"Well, that's as may be, Ray, but I'm afraid I don't understand what—what _this_ has to do with my health and happiness." Fraser sounds confused, but he also sounds turned on, and Ray can just bet that he's watching Vecchio's fingers, right where they're pressing into Ray.

"Because you think we don't like each other, Benny. You think we're going to get sick of each other and split, and leave you all alone, and we are here today to show you that that is not in the cards. We like each other—" and Vecchio's voice gets low and harsh, scraping up Ray's spine and rubbing down his cock,"—just _fine_.

Fraser sucks in a breath, and Ray can feel the bed shifting, but Vecchio's fingers don't ever stop moving, in and out and in and _out_, all the way out, and Ray's moaning with the loss but the hand on his back is firm and soothing, holding him steady. A pause, and then, all at once, _warm-wet-yes_, a mouth low on his back, kissing downward and then _in_: Fraser, Fraser tongue-fucking him with small, tender licks. Ray moans, twists back, but the hands keep him steady, and Vecchio's mouth is by his ear, breathing warm and sweet against Ray's hair, his hands rubbing gently against Ray's neck and shoulders. He turns his head, fumbling blindly, sweat and sex blurring his vision, but it's good, it's fine—Vecchio's right there, his mouth on Ray's, kissing him as he shatters apart with a gasp and a sob, coming all over the sheets without a hand on his cock.

Fraser's not done, though—there's a brief conversation, carried out in grunts and murmurs overhead as Ray fumbles blearily with the buttons on Vecchio's shirt. Then, Ray's hips are being pulled back and up, and Fraser's cock pushes into him in one smooth slick glide of _ohgodplease_. No way he's coming again, not this soon—hell, probably not at all—but it feels so damn good, just the same. Ray shudders all over, his body clenching in fucked-out pleasure, and he paws more urgently at Vecchio's clothes.

"Yeah, yeah, all right, here, come on," Vecchio says, and strips off quickly. When he leans back onto the bed, he's still next to Ray, but he's leaning up against the pillows, his chin resting on the top of Ray's head—he must be watching them, and Ray can't blame him. He'd like to be watching, too, but since Fraser's fucking him stupid, he's pretty much limited to biting Vecchio's chest, scraping his teeth across Vecchio's nipple and breathing in the smell of summer-sweat-sex, which, let's be honest here, is not a bad thing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ray can see Vecchio's hand—the one that's not rubbing through Ray's hair—slide down to grab his cock, which is pointing up at the ceiling, hard and red. Vecchio does himself fast, hips lifting up just a little at the end of every stroke, and all the while he's got his mouth against Ray's head and he's talking, talking, talking.

"Love this," he says, "fucking _love_ this, right here, like this, yes, yes—" He breaks off, gasping for air, and his breath rushes past Ray's ear.

"What do you love, Ray?" Fraser asks, and, shit, Ray can't believe that they're both speaking in complete sentences. He can barely manage to keep breathing, and here they're having a goddamn discussion, the freaks.

Although Vecchio, at least, is having a hard time of it—he's really writhing, now, pumping up into his fist, almost shaking Ray off of his shoulder.

"This," he says, his voice shaking, "This, Benny. You and him and me, just like this, all the time," _forever_. He doesn't say it, but Ray hears it anyway, and yes, Christ, yes, that's it. That's what Fraser needs to hear, what they all needed to hear, the truth that's so obvious and so fucking perfect that only a bunch of total freaks could miss hearing it.

Fraser's hearing it, though: Ray can tell, because his hands go tight on Ray's hips, and suddenly Ray's really getting pounded, getting fucked with all the intensity and passion and focus that Benton Fraser has to offer. When he comes, his groan shudders through Ray's shoulder blades, making him shake even harder, making him bite down on Vecchio's shoulder and go limp.

But Fraser's not having it—he leans back, his cock still deep in Ray, and pulls Ray with him, keeping their hips tight together so that Ray's sitting astride Fraser's lap, the two of them looking down over Vecchio together. Fraser's rubbing his hands all over Ray's body, pulling at his nipples and his cock and scraping his nails over Ray's stomach until they both shiver. It's lazy and self-satisfied and absolutely the hottest thing Ray's done in years, including that time with the leather. Fraser's just—he's just _showing Ray off_, playing with his body, forcing his legs wider and running gentle fingers over the place where Ray is stretched tight around his cock. Ray gasps and moans, grinding back against Fraser, and Fraser bites the side of his neck, just high enough and hard enough for it to show over the collar of Ray's shirt tomorrow.

When Vecchio goes stiff and spurts across his own belly, his eyes are dark on the two of them, and they're watching him right back: the three of them, together, crazy perfect freaks.

Gently, Fraser slides Ray forward, off his lap, and Ray can't help it: he moans just a little at the loss of connection. Fraser kisses the back of his neck, though, sweet and tender, and then Vecchio's right there, pulling Ray down against his shoulder and holding him close, one hand stroking up and down the groove of Ray's spine. The mattress shifts, creaking a little, and then Fraser's crawling up toward the headboard and curling behind Ray, warm and solid and still panting just a little.

"D'you get it?" Ray mumbles. He's tired as hell, and crashing hard, but this is important, because if Fraser doesn't get it—well, fine, they've still had some really great sex, and that's never a loss, but they've missed the point of this whole thing. He can feel Fraser nod, though, and his arm comes around Ray, rests on Vecchio's stomach.

"I understand, Ray," he says. "I understand both of you."

"That's good, Benny," Vecchio says, and Ray just grunts, too sleepy to do anything more. "That's real good."

And it is.


End file.
